


Flight 104

by giwp



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giwp/pseuds/giwp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Flight 104, this is your chief flight attendant Jean speaking here to tell you we're gonna have a rad time together for the next sixteen hours baby. Please fasten your seat belts and we can get this show started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight 104

**Author's Note:**

> [Jean's pre-flight hype music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3n71KUiWn1I)

The line outside the gate was already huge and there was still an hour or so before people allowed to clamber into the belly of the beast. An hour until the sounds of crying children worried new parent, and whiny homophobic old biddies crowed themselves into the congested air space for the next sixteen hours of their lives. An hour until Jean Kirschstein would be forced into interacting with the batch of newbs straight out of school who won’t have a single real hour of work without a hand to hold.

Rolling through the airport’s lounge, small suitcase of essentials and a change of clothes in tow, the giant of my uniform definitely caught the eye of most of the loners sitting across the walls, scrounging and collecting around power outlets. Children looked up at him, pointing him out to their mothers. “There goes the plane people, mommy!” was something Jean had gotten used to and started shrugging it off real quick. He was used to people admiring the work he did on flights before they set foot and realized just who they were praising. And then it was all about canceling out the rudeness thrown his way by cranky customers that couldn’t handle sitting in a sear for longer than three hours. As he walked through the terminal, it became a game of judging the looks on peoples’ faces to see who thought he was the pilot and not some lowly flight attendant in charge of making sure their ungrateful asses were comfortable. Nobody would care once they saw his familiar face greeting them at the door of the place and that thought both amused and left him smirking.

His passenger case gliding along behind him, Starbucks in hand, he made his way towards the gate. Inching his way past passed out bodies trying to get an ounce of extra sleep before turbulence left them nauseous was a trick masters after years of running the course and he managed to make the journey without a single drop of coffee landing on unsuspecting faces. Finding the tiny strip of clear carpet that was kept roped off within the six foot circumference in front of the door Jean was able to set down his suitcase and stretch out his back and stare out at the place around him. Assessing the damage and control that might occur once they were allowed to shepherd them all in. Young kids with young parents on their first out-of-country family trips were the common find and often led to whiny babies with pains in their ears. The young adults, around Jean’s age, that looked to be on the study abroad program or going on their after-graduation overseas journey around the world. Business men in crusty old suits, sleep threatening to knock a row of “f”s and their own coffees onto the emails and reports they’re typing onto laptops. Jean trapped the card in his pants pocket with the inflight Wi-Fi activation code as he smirked into his own drink.

The rest of the population crowded as close as possible to Gate 37 seemed to be the random stragglers, going back home or out to visit family. Whatever their reasons were, there was always the few that deemed it their job for the day to make Jean’s job hellish for no good reason, but there was no reason to seek those asshats out just yet. It was the more the game of finding the unsatisfied and picky without assuming and killing the atmosphere but also making sure to give them efficient attention. It was a science and it was marketing and Jean was both the head scientist and marketer and it was getting time to find his little minions to work alongside him.

Usually when the newbs got to the gate – an hour or two early, the nerds – they crowded themselves with their “flight attendant in training” badges glinting in the fluorescent lights above near the closest window to the door into the tunnel behind the front desk. Taking a deep breath as if it’s his last on normal ground, Jean turns towards the large window. Outside, he can see the parked lot where the plane sits resting ad he knows the cleaning crew is probably frantically running around inside trying to make sure its decent enough not upset the people. The skies outside were clear and a quick check this morning at his apartment told Jean that the entire journey to the tiny strip of land the plane would touch down on in Paris would be clear as well. Low chance of bullshitting weather, high chances of happy passengers that had good tourist conditions to look forwards to.

As his gaze to the outside world fizzled out of perception, Jean was left looking at his own reflection for a second. His ashen locks melting into a darker brown was styled as appropriately as the manuals had required and the shine to his badge – “Jean K.- Chief Attendant” – reflected off the focused sunlight streaming from the rising sun. The joys of early flights meant the chance of still sleepy children and an actual interactive crowd and seeing as how the crowd didn’t seem too bitter so early in the morning, Jean had high hopes for the next sixteen hour. I mean, what else was he supposed to do for the next millennia of time in the stuffy box in the sky? Plus watching the sun rise over the horizon was a magic that Jean would never reveal to anyone.

Jean shifted his gaze down the window and his eyes landed on the pile of bodies huddled together whispering quietly to each other excitedly. “They probably came from the same academy,” Jean thought to himself. It usually worked out that way. Kids would go in together and come out of learning classrooms to be thrown into the same airline and, at first, the same few flights. It was to keep the comfortable as they became used to the real deal but then afterwards they were sent off in different directions; promoted to higher positions and told to help lead the incoming froshers in Jean’s case. He was separated from lifelong friends just after his last flight about a week ago when he’d gotten the offer of promotion. He’d accepted the pay raise and authority with open arms and staring down at the friendly group didn’t stir any momentary regrets. He was in the clear for now and hoped to any Almighty that existed that he’d be able to keep a nice group for longer than a few months. But that usually depended on good inflight reviews and the motivation to keep the passenger pleased pressed itself to the forefront of Jean’s mind.

He took the few steps forwards and stopped in front of the group lounging around. They didn’t seem to acknowledge him as they faced themselves towards the window, talking animatedly all at once. Jean stood there amused as his arms, coffee still in hand, across his chest and smirked down at them, hip cocked out to the side as he allowed his body to slouch behind the safety of the information desk they hid behind. He stood there, unmoving except to take the occasional sip of his drink, until he noticed in the reflection of the clear glass, brown eyes flitting towards him and spinning around to face him with a yelp. The boy the eyes belonged to scrambled on his hands and knees grabbing anything that looked like his as he tried to stand up at the same time. The others, confused at first, soon caught on and openly wide-eyed included themselves in the little show as they staggered up to full height to face Jean, embarrassment written onto their cheeks for showing themselves as casual under the eyes of the badge that glinted back at them from where it was pinned to Jean’s chest.

“Well this is going to be an interesting change,” Jean thought to himself. Having people answering to him was going to be something to get used to, but the four people in front of him decided to start on the right foot. He smiled down at them, the smile only meant for coworkers and nothing like the one meant for passengers, and knew the intimidation tactic was going to be useful to ensure no fuck ups occurred. He didn’t want to learn new names of his coworkers every single flight and a good, strict start would ensure the same assigned groups. Plus, jean’s plans for “inflight entertainment” would appeal to this young group. They all seemed to be around Jean’s age, nearing their mid-20s and Jean figured they were the type that went to actual school for something else and landed in flight school years later. Something unlike Jean who had the same life goals since the day he’d first taken that trip leaving France for the small apartment life in America when he was seven.

First impressions were the key to a good relationship with new people and Jean’s approach leaned on the “louder” side of expectations. “Alright. So which one of you are dating?”

The boy, in the middle of the height range in the boys, with the black hair and piercing green and the remnants of a permanent scowl still under his skin spoke up first at Jean’s inquiry. “Um. What?”

“Don’t lie to me. We’re gonna be stuck together for basically two days round trip. I’d like to know which pairing is likely to end up in the darker corners giving the ol’ rod a wank.”

Everyone blanched at Jean’s words, the taller one turning the deepest shade of red while sweat began to form and slide down the forehead of the shortest bald guy. Jean smirked. He pointed at Baldie and after a quick glance of his nametag, spoke to him. “Connie? Alright who do you usually end up getting with? Is it Eren?” he points at the green-eyed boy whose eyes were blown wide. “Because I see you more being with Ms. Sasha over here. Not that you’re not attractive with them emerald eyes of yours, bro,” he conceded to Eren. He flushed, as deep as the tall brunet, Marco. “So which one?”

The bald guy – Connie, he reminded himself – sputtered out, hands slippery with sweat causing his luggage and large, over the ear headphones to almost fall as he spoke. “I-uh. Shit man. I just-”. The betrayal of his eyes gave further confirmation for Jean that he wasn’t wrong.

“Sasha it is.” The girl gave a quick squeal that attracted the attention of a nearby family – their little rugrat making eyes in our direction. I waved a hand at them and donned my best smile and after receiving a shy wave in return, I turned back to the rest of my crew. “Don’t worry. When I was new, I had Thomas but like with anything in the flying business, we went in different paths. Not that I don’t wish you the best of luck with whatever you two are, but just remember we are working around the clock and any short break is for breathing and pissing not for flashing genitals in such an enclosed space. Last thing the rest of us need is to spend the rest of a flight airing out the smell of sex from a sealed plane.”

They all nodded their head, in a trance as they listened to him ramble. Introductions hadn’t even been given and he figured the few more minutes before the landing crew unlocked the gate was as good a time to get that out of the way. “So, I’m Jean. I guess I’ll be your chief flight attendant. Training has probably told you that means I’m basically the shift manager on a never ending shift in the sky. I’ll delegate the tasks and am in charge of any big things that happen on the flight. Mostly the few times passengers get excessively rowdy or announcements from the captain needs to be vocalized to the passengers. Speaking of captains, I’m the only one allowed to speak with them. If you read the forms, Bert and Reiner are their names but if anyone on the fight asks to know their name, direct them to me or call me over and I’ll deal. Um- I think that’s about all I need to tell you lost right now but just for your knowledge, this is my first flight as chief attendant so just don’t screw anything up and we’ll stick together for longer than this one trip. Yeah? So are there any questions?”

The tall one – Marco – raised his hands slightly in the air and rested it over a crossed arm and Jean decided this boy with the freckles across his face was going to be a decent colleague, at least more than the others seems. “Um. You don’t look any older than us. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been a flight attendant?”

He always loved answering this question. Watching their faces blow over surprise into shock as he told them the story always made him giddy. “I started when I was 18 and just out of high school. So I guess that accounts to what now – like, six years?  It’s been a while. I’ve seen a lot of shit,” he says. His eyes flicker over to the gate right as it opens up by one of the crew members. The person throws their head around looking around for someone of importance and Jean blinks when he sees them lock on him. The slightly different uniform must be really obvious standing next to the others. He raises a finger to the others as he makes his way to the door, thanking the crew member – Annie, if he remembers correctly – as she leaves him with the open door.

Many people that had been lounging around saw the open door as the moment to stand and grab their things and after locking the door in place, Jean made his way to the speaker’s microphone that announced out to their small patch of seats. “We at Scouting Legion Flights would like to thank you all for patiently waiting. Boarding will begin shortly but until then, please remain in your seats and we will announce boarding by segmented rows very soon. Thank you.”

He gestured toward the awed minions behind him and with a flick led them into the tunnel leading into the plane. “So I already know you lot are from the same academy and I know your names. Is there anything else I should know about? Weird allergies? How gay Marco and Eren actually are? Cools pets you left back at your parent’s house? Hm?” He turned his body, opting to walk backwards down the familiar tube of metal. He’d been with this airline numerous times, the familiarity was something he inhaled as he eyes the two taller boys. Marco and Eren seemed to bounce away from each other and into the walls of the shaky platforms their faces flushed again and Jean hoped that would be less frequent as the hours passed. It was like suffering from second hand embarrassment watching them flounder for an answer.

Eren spoke up first, seeming to gain confidence as he saw Jean soften and cringe from their stupidly dorky reactions to his simple question. “We’re both gay. And totally not fucking! I have a boyfriend, Armin, back home in downtown L.A.”

“What about you, freckles?” Any hot thank waiting for you or are you here to make friends in Boston during the layover segment of the night?”

He seemed to bounce back faster from Jean’s quick quip as he responded straight faced and a little sulkier than his original bubbly self. “No. I’m good without anyone to cuddle at night.”

Jean raised a brow at the sarcastic tone and chuckled to himself. “Yeah, same. After Thomas I realized how useless trying to work in a relationship between flights and packing and repacking my life was. The single life’s where it’s at, bro,” he says as he stretches his arms and turns to walk through the door of their plane.

They all go about finding their little cubbies and spaces to hide their personal belongings in, waving at the pilots that walk through and make casual conversation to with Jean. After a few more minutes of settling in, Jean shoos them away into the cockpit and promises to bring sodas once everyone’s brought in as he heralds everyone to meet at the front of the plane’s entrance. The plane isn’t too large, nothing like a jumbo jet, but it’s enough to accommodate the hundred-something to make the trip to Boston then Paris in sixteen hours with only one break for fuel and restocking supplies and Jean was glad for the fact running up and down a narrow set of stairs all day, managing everyone and everything imaginable, wasn’t on his agenda. They would spread themselves along the length of the plane and avoid disasters, if anything.

“Sasha and Connie, my cute couple, you two will greet customers as they enter the plane. Eren, you’ll help any old bids that can’t read their seat numbers on their tickets and Connie (?) you’ll help where you see fit. I’ll let you judge when Eren’s the most swamped but try not to hover, yeah? Marco and I will do ticketing so I won’t be here to handle the grumbles. I’ll try to intercept and gripes outside but just try to keep it cool in here. Everyone got it?”

They all nodded and with an announcement to break apart, they all went their respective directions and stood at ready for Jean and Marco to open the flood gates and allow the mosh pit to enter.

Marco and Jean make their way back through the plane’s feeding tube. The brunet keeps the walk silent and Jean deems him his new favorite as he finds himself comfortable with the quiet. They walk out from the dark hall and Jean flicks the lights inside to a brighter setting as they step out to the flurry of people still strew around the floor of the terminal.

“Alright. So I’m guessing you know how to take tickets and plaster a smile onto that pretty face of yours?” he asks as he cleans up the rogue papers left from previous flights around the desk he’s stood at. He glances at Marco who nods his head in affirmation and continues on looking out at the people. “Great! Grab the setup over there across from me and just smile and wave them in. Be quick yet efficient. Don’t forget to check passports since we aren’t doing that in Boston since they’ll be in a restricted area to stretch out their legs and back and we don’t need to worry about that later. If they have especially tiny rugrats, let them know someone is inside to help with any difficulties. All that jazz they tell you at the academy, yeah?”

“Sounds good” comes the squeak of nerves.

Jean nods his head at Marco’s retreating back and turns to flip the switch on the mic. He clears his throat quickly and begins his usual spiel.

“Good morning ladies and gents. Welcome to Flight 104 to Paris, France, my name is Jean and I will be your chief flight attendant for today’s flight. We will start boarding now beginning with our first class and wheelchair slash elderly passengers. We thank everyone else for waiting oh so patiently as we ensure everyone finds their appropriate seats. In the meantime, if all families with young children along for their first plane rides could please begin collecting their things, we will gladly accept your tickets whenever you are ready as someone will be on the other side to aide you in seating. Thank you.”

As Jean took the small amount of time to flip the switch back off and store the microphone under the desk, a line had formed in front of Marco and him and he was looking down at a string of business suits and posh women and men dressed to the nines. Farther back the elderly were slowly making their way towards the growing row of suits and Jean internally chided himself, smile still plastered to his lips, for not breaking down the lineup and calling up the grandmas in the crowd before the hostile suits took over. But as they say, Que Sera Sera, life goes on and the job must be done anyway and he hurried his pace as he shot suit after suit into the tunnel and hoped none of the old biddies would keel over in that time.

They get done with their first group in record time, making sure to aide any fragile customers before tossing them in to Sash and Connie. The sounds of business suits and tearing ticket folds the only thing fully registering to the pair of them. Once in a while a stray adult would pop up next to Jean, scaring the bejeezus out of him, asking how long until the next group was to be called up. He usually sent them off with a smile and a “very soon ma’am/sir”.

As the line dwindled to the very last few on Marco’s front, Jean grabbed again for the mic and flicked up its switch. “All other passengers onboard Flight 104 to Paris, France, please make your way to the gate. Boarding is not open to everyone. Thank you.”

Twenty minutes of heralding in groggy people in the tunnel and at the three inside the plane, Jean and Marco are finally able to clean up any scraps of papers and collect the ticket stubs into a neat pile for auditing. In the mix are those few little reminders of their jobs in the form of little colorful scribbles on clean white paper that vaguely resemble them smiling and handling tickets.

Still with the same silence between them, they both make their way back into the plane. Jean grabs and closes the door locked behind them, letting the lights flicker out and drowning them in darkness for the second it takes their eyes to adjust to the small of artificial light coming from the other side. Marco hangs back to sidle next to Jean and they pick their way towards the gap of light where they could hear the people grumbling and children yelling excitedly.

Jean pauses for a second, taking this as a time to get his last breath of air before the ride and Marco reacts with him and turns to face him with a questioning look on his face. “Just. You learn to take in the small amounts of calm before the storm through the years. Once you lose that hand to hold you through everything, it sometimes gets to be a lot and any sort of silence is calming.” He leans back on the balls of his feet and with a push to his will, his body rocks forward and his steady feet go back to leading them towards the plane.

The whisper of Marco’s voice stutters and as they walk and Jean turns his head to listen. He clears his throat once he finds the tawny eyes staring back and tries again. More sturdy in his words. “I understand what you mean. This job is fun and I’ve had a lot of fun so far. We get to see amazing places but it’s still stressful most of the time. Dealing with vomit and horny honeymooners,” his voice trails off at his last comment and Jean snorts as he turns back to the nearing doors.

“Well looks like this is it freckles. You ready to fly?” Marco smiles, nodding his head like a preschooler asked if he wants another glob of clay to destroy, and as they step in Jean turns to lock the door down and flick the switches to release the tunnel’s handle on the side of the plane.

He grabs the phone that connects down to the head controls center and gives the go that they’re disconnected on their part. Jean turns back around and finds the rest of his crew running down aisles and grabbing seat belt extensions and boosters and running back. I turn to Marco whose watching the running bodies with wide eyes and tell him to start setting up and refilling the drinks and snack trolley and he bounds off in the direction of the back of the plane, asking on his way there if everyone is comfortable and answering any answerable questions.

Standing alone at the front of the plane Jean gives the “I’m ready when you’re ready” knock on the pilot’s door and does back to hiding himself in the darks of the front room. It usually takes him a while to shake off the nerves before presenting the real opening spiel to the passengers. It’s the battle to keep the balance between seeming chill and showing formality and representing the company well. And all of that revolved around the people that sat in the plastic/metal contraptions around the corner that somehow was always a different personality to the people that lounged outside in the terminals. Everyone’s tension levels seemed to rise the second they’d gotten onto the plane.

The read Jean had gotten outside, walking through their half dead bodies, wasn’t really enough to decipher how they would react to any crass jokes he made. The younger crowd and kids had seemed a bit restless so early in the morning, though, and didn’t show signs of sleeping anytime soon so with a breathe of refiltered, pumped air, Jean makes his way towards the PA system hooked on the inside of their sink area off the alleyway of the plane. The system was connected to speakers lined around the walls of the plane and with one click he’s able to speak to everyone including the pilots with a little leverage of control over any kind of person that had stepped past him. It didn’t matter what your high class standing was once you’ve stepped past the line drawn by Jean and Marco’s feet. In the plane’s domain, Jean was in charge of keeping _everyone_ safe, not just the elite, and that slight power both anchored him in front of the aisle and also shook his hands in anxiety. Switching hands, he gives his arm a quick shake and with a cough to clear his throat, Jean plunges into his little three-ringed circus.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. If you haven’t already done so, please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. And also make sure your seats and folding trays are in their full upright positions. (I can tell your seat is slightly tilted douchedick)

“If you are seating next to an emergency exit, please read carefully the special instructions card located by your seat. If you do not wish to perform the functions described in the event of an emergency, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you. (Don’t be a pain in the ass please)

“At this time, we request that all mobile phones, pagers, radios and remote controlled toys be turned off for the full duration of the flight, as those items might interfere with the navigational and communication equipment on this aircraft. We request that all other electronic devices be turned off until we fly above 10.000 feet. We will notify you when it is safe to use such devices. (That includes your dumb iPod, kid)

“We remind you that this a non-smoking flight. Smoking is prohibited on the entire aircraft, including the lavatories. Tampering with, disabling, or destroying the lavatory smoke detectors is prohibited by law. A designated area during our layover will be given to those who desire. (I’ll see you there)

 

“If you have any questions about our flight today, please don’t hesitate to ask one of our flight attendants. Thank you.”

Jean set the speaker down and lets the air flow through his lungs. The long speech before moving always left him a bit winded even after having had a few months of practice under his belt. Without the option to pass the job along to someone else was enough to knock the breath away.

The thrill of a moving plane always jolts everyone awake and as the large metal box idles its way connected to the trucks outside that would soon be dragging them onto the runway, the pilots on the other side of their door flick the switch and the ding and lights of the signs above go off. Show time.

With such little bounce back time, or maybe it was longer and everything just moves faster when you’re in a rush around your work space, but Jean’s back by the PA system, voice steadier as he moves to stand in full view of the passengers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Jean and I am your super cute chief attendant for today. On behalf of Captain Braun and Hoover and the entire crew, welcome aboard Scouting Legion Airlines, Flight 104, service from sunny Los Angeles to Paris, France, with a quick stop off in Boston.

“Our flight time will be of 12 hours and 35 minutes including the slight two-hour delay for refueling as we are aboard a smaller than usual aircraft. We will be flying at an altitude of 51 thousand feet at a ground speed of six hundred miles per hour.

“At this time I would like to remind you, make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright positions. Also make sure your seat belt is correctly fastened and please aide our younger guests around you. And finally, we advise you that as of this moment, any electronic equipment must be fully turned off. Thank you.”

Clicking the machine back in place, Jean stands back off to the side and waits for the feeling of the plane dragging itself behind small trucks onto the smooth rumble of the tarmac. It takes a couple seconds of fidgeting before he hates the feeling of his dry nails enough to go on in and make a few rounds down the aisles. The plane is wide – sectioned off into three long rows down the length of the plane. He sidles himself to walking down the least congested and continuously asks if everyone is comfortable and letting them now that refreshments will be offered as soon as they’ve reached a stable altitude.

After a couple minutes of trying to decipher tired, mumbled questions and giving a crisp enough answer to satiates their inquiries, Jean makes it past the suits and posh and past the rowdier crowd with children (and yes the horny honeymooners) and finally makes it to the back of the plane where he finds Eren helping Marco with organizing the array of drinks into their assigned cubby like they were going off of their internal textbooks.

“Tch. Okay I know you guys want to give great first impressions and what not,” Jean cuts through their silence. The two dramatically jump away from each other and the trolley and Jean hides the chuckle bubbling up seeing as he wouldn’t expect differently. “There are a lot of suits and parents out there. They usually don’t take the darker drinks. Worried about their health or something. Put the waters and sprites in the top drawer; dark stuff in the middle; and, the orange soda and fruity stuff stowed under with the light liquors where people have to really reach down to snag. Keep cups over on the left and ice on your right and you’re as golden as the sunrise these people will hopefully wake up to.”

The joys of their flight was that leaving at 7 A.M. from Los Angeles led into their flight that would last nearing fifteen hours and dropping them off in Paris around 7 A.M. as well. It was just the unforgivable day they would miss but many passengers would leave the aircraft confused, nonetheless, wonder filling the voices that asked if the entire flight had even happened and if they’d just transported into the great country of love. Others forgave the wonderment, bigger, better things on their minds as they would rush with bags in hand and smartphones in the other, trying to catch the fastest train to their early meetings near the Eiffel Tower. It was whatever as long as everyone left his domain in some form of content.

Jean notices the tiny eye roll Eren gives him but before he even thinks to call him out, he’s already pulling out and rearranging drinks as Marco walks out to refill the tin that holds the ice. Jean moves on, letting the deal with anything that could pop up, knowing any complications with soda would have to be dire for him to stick around and waste precious calm time. As he start his rounds back down the neighboring aisle, catching the eyes of many desperately single-looking college grads, the rumble of wheels hitting pavement and the wobble of the less experienced’s gait tells him it’s time for step three.

The buzz of Reiner’s voice cuts into the momentary silence as everyone looks outside the closest window of the passing landscape. “Cabin Crew, please prepare for departure. Thank you.” His voice too gruff for the tiny statement seals the plastered smile and Jean makes his way towards the front of the plane, close to where Sasha stands ready for a job she appears to be acquainted well with.

“I’m guessing you’ve done this before, yeah?” Jean asks.

“I got top enthusiasm marks so everyone usually tosses me in for examples,” she replies, her smile more sincere than Jean knows his is. Her looks might actually make the uninterested pay attention and Jean shrugs his shoulder and leads the way to the supplies held above the small sink and PA system.”

He nearly runs into Connie on the way there and on a split second decision of “fuck it let’s see these kids get thrown into the pit”. “I’m guessing you’re very well acquainted with the show as well, yes?” Connie’s eyes widen and he chokes for a second but then nods his head and Jean shoves the extra gear into his hands from the cabinet above the sink. “Great. So we have an old video but we’re required, as you know, to give the personal face-to-face experience. So pick the row where you think your faces would be most useful over the other’s and we can start. Yeah?”

They nod their heads and smile as they grab their get ups and props and line up down their aisles, things lain out on the side behind the corner and sincerely smiling down at everyone fastened into their seats. Eren and Marco seem to understand what’s happening and Jean thanks, again, to whatever god there is that he wasn’t handed a group of idiots to look after.

Jean grabs the mic and as the static crackles for a bit he lets the nerves anywhere near the two volunteer actors crack to life.

“Good morning, everyone. I’d like to direct your attention to the television monitors in front of you. We will be showing our safety demonstration and would like the next few minutes of your complete attention.”

He waits a beat for parents to round up and seat their jumpy children and people to disconnect MP3 players (that should’ve been off already) or put down their books on their laps, fingers acting as their temporary bookmarks to avoid dog-earring the pages, before continuing.

“Now we request your full attention as our lovely flight attendants, Sasha and Connie, demonstrate the safety features of this aircraft.” He turns back, away from hovering behind Sasha’s soldier, and located the video player and tape quickly and sets it after checking if it’s been rewound already. He hits the switches that feed the video through into the personal screens and a hit of the sound later, he hits play and settles back against a wall and watches the backs of Connie and Sasha flow through their job task.

They seem comfortable working with each other, using the other to play off any flubs with minuscule jokes that catch a couple of the passengers’ attentions. Soon, Jean notices, everyone’s eyes are on the two and he can feel the warmth coming out towards them as they try to keep up with the video’s pace. The voice of the video was always fast enough to trip up the newer attendants but these two had managed to keep up, free-flowing, and making up for any small blips.

As the drone of the female voice echoing across the small space continues, Jean’s eyes flicker down the alley finding the brown eyes reflecting off the artificial lights staring back at him. He gazes back and locking eyes they get into a staring contest waiting for the other’s to break. With the passengers’ eyes distracted by Sasha’s fumbling of the oxygen mask, Jean plays dirty and scrunches up his nose and crossing his tongue across his lips reaching it up to touch the tip of his nose all without breaking contact on Marco. He watches the twitch on his lips as he tries to withhold the smile threatening to come out but he schools it down quickly and hardens it over and gives Jean what must be his excuse of an over-exaggerated tough-guy image. Jean relaxes his expression and lifts an eyebrow, quirking his mouth to the side, at the guy in question and it’s like a lightbulb had just suffered a surge in energy into his brain and his eyes fly open, eyebrows shooting into his hairline, as a light shade of red dust his cheeks. Marco’s eyes finally flicker away as they land on the laces of freshly polished shoes. The thought of his mother pulling out a dusty can of shoe polish and brush and doing it for him at 3 A.M. before he’d even gotten into the shower made Jean smirk to himself.

Bringing his attention back to the ending of Sasha and Connie’s show, his eyes manage to catch the glint of emerald green staring at him from somewhere further behind Marco. Pretending and playing off the face he’d been caught goofing off with one of the other newbs colored his cheeks and he could feel the heat creeping up his neck but he wills it down and makes his way towards the entertainment system set up ignoring the snap of Eren’s neck he sees out the corner of his peripherals as he rounds on Marco. “They are totally a secret thing,” Jean whispers to himself, chuckling. As he passes the doorway to the rest of the plane, he glances and finds Marco’s blush still blazing, gaze still low, and Eren with a slight fire behind the clear visage over his eyes that Jean could tell he was trying to water down and to set fire to the rain, Jean shoots him a wink in return and laughs as he turns the video system off with a flick of a switch as Connie and Sasha collect their props and make small talk with passengers.

He grabs the mic and shuffles out onto the walk with a lighter pep in his step. With a new gage on his audience and knowing it was likely to be a fun enough ride giving Marco and Eren shit for hiding their little secret from him brings an honest-to-god, not-plasters smile to his face and he can hear the airiness in his voice as it travels through the plane.

“Thank you for your patience, everyone give a round of applause to my new favorite actors slash coworkers.” Everyone claps along and there are a few whoops thrown in the air form the younger guys as Connie and Sasha turn a deep red, smiling to themselves and laughing as they take a bow, hands ladled with their stuff. A couple of oxygen masks and a seat belt fall loose and the passengers chuckle as they fumble for a second and make their way to stuff their armful of supplies back into its appropriate bin above the sink. Jean chuckles at them as he set the mic down and pats them both on the shoulder. “Take a seat, you deserve it. We won’t be leaving for a while and everything looks to be ready to go.” They nod, a look of gratitude on their faces as they laugh along nervously and Jean can feel the slight tension between everyone in his crew finally relieving itself and flying out the metaphorical window.

That is, except from the green-eyed monster rounding the corner and heading our way who probably thinks Jean’s sad excuse of a joke was blatant flirting. But he doesn’t say anything as Marco comes following him and they stand a few feet apart waiting for the call to ready for take-off from Reiner.

The plane continues its way towards the runway where they would make their speedy get away as the five of them stand or sit staring at each other. This is usually the part where the leader would make some great motivational speech to pump up the atmosphere but for now Jean draws a blank and continues his staring at the small designs in the carpeting. He clears his throat after a while and all eyes turn to him for his great words of wisdom but he takes it as an opportunity to just keep light of every situation that could possibly hurdle itself in their direction during their time together.

“So are you sure you two aren’t a thing because, you know, I wouldn’t mind,” Jean smirks thinking himself so clever. That is until he notices the way Eren’s eyes widen a fraction larger than embarrassed and towards more scandalized if anything and the way Marco turns 50 shades of pale to red in a three second span that has him backtracking on what he’d said that makes him lower his smile. Connie and Sasha snicker into their hands still in their seats and Jean’s mouth wobbles open as he stares at them and back at the two boys stood stock still in shock.

“I-I mean like – I don’t care! You could date whoever or just sleep with them I don’t care. I ju-just wanted to let that be known, ya know. I wasn’t asking for a threesome or any-”

He’s cut off, thankfully, from his rambling by the sound of Reiner calling attention to everyone. “Cabin Crew, please prepare for take-off.”

And with a shuffle, everyone’s thrown into a seat with little care, belts locked into place and eyes still downcast and cheeks as red as a cherry’s, everyone’s pushed into their seats from the momentum as their little metal box in the sky leaves them enclosed together for the next sixteen hours.

**Author's Note:**

> So I do this with all of my oneshots now, I guess. 
> 
> Call me "The Mood Killer" as I end all of my oneshots with the highlight of sexual tension. If I were to add more to this fic it would just be a lot of boring stuff dealing with passengers and probably at the other side they'd all get a couple rooms together and probably do the thing but I seriously can't get myself to write smut so give me time and maybe one day with a lot of 'practice', I'll write it. 
> 
> You're allowed to yell at me until then. Also my next project is to write the sequel to [Snapbacks and Snapchats](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3282218) that everyone's been yelling about for the last few days so keep an eye out for that soonish. Y'all are super rad and your comments on all of my fics make me so happy I'm gonna vomit. 
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://mamaarachne.tumblr.com/)


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